


To You

by Sad_Girl



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Jealousy, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Puppy Love, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sugar loving, Throwback, Unrequited Love, drunk, ex-FIB, gta v - Freeform, lonely hearts club, reader - Freeform, sad girl, to you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sad_Girl/pseuds/Sad_Girl
Summary: Lo goes by many different alias, hiding her true identity from cops and criminals alike. Undercover she discovers the infamous group of men who pulled a heist gone wrong, and it made her wonder how could something like that gone unnoticed. Little did she know, she was part of the reason for their disappearance and it cost her everything.





	1. Prologue

 

_"Her shadows play in the shape of a man's desire_  
_This desert rose_  
_Each of her veils, a secret promise_  
_This desert flower_  
_No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this"_  
_\- Desert Rose, Sting_

_..._

Stumbling out of his truck, Trevor slammed the door and head straight to the bar. By the front, he spotted a blonde, precious as an angel but lungs as black as coal. He attempted to hit on her, but she put out her cigarette and walked away from him with an eye roll.

"Yeah, well fuck you too!" He slurred after her, raising a fist in her honour as the woman drove off. "Hope you land in a ditch somewhere!" Shaking his head, he pushed the door open and spotted another victim by the bar.

Another blonde, however the hue was darker and greasy. She wore a plaid shirt and denim shorts, it revealed her busted knee and unshaven legs. But all he thought about was getting drunk and laid before the morning sun blinds his eyes and sleep off the drugs and alcohol.

Popping up a seat next to the woman, he noted the unsightly mole on the side of her nose. It had a couple hairs on it, but he didn't fucking care.

She looked at him.

It had been five years since he lost his best friends in that last heist, and with nothing left to do but cause mayhem in daylight and in the shadows, he needed to satisfy his boy's raging hunger. His hand slipped on the big woman's rear, grazing before he groped it. Perhaps he didn't read the situation properly, but the woman slapped him and yelled cusses at him before stomping out of the bar.

Growling to himself, Trevor called after her, even if she was long gone. "Fine, _go_ , you Sasquatch! Go get yourself a fuckin' burger and extra large fries while you're at it! Oh! And when you do, go _fuck_ yourself with it!"

A sputter of chuckles spread through the room whereas the barmaid, Janet, growled at him to shut up. If one day all the females had stopped coming to her bar, the reason would be him.

A slight turn to his left, a particular sight had sent his heart to cardiac arrest for a split moment. A woman shrouded in mystery had the smallest smile on her face at his outburst.

This got him thinking he was going to be extra lucky tonight. If all others failed, he was going to try to get this one. No matter what. Third times the charm, they say.

"Hello there, gorgeous." Trevor eyed her like a slab of meat.

Brown eyes slowly went up from her whiskey to the strange fellow who brazenly called her up. She made a face but smiled nevertheless. What did she expect? A handsome and gallant man with a head full of thick dark hair and smoldering eyes that said Other than 'come hither dear?' In this shithole? There was plenty of country bumpkins with unrefined charm - unless they were bullriders, those are different. And oh! the motorcyclists.

The raven haired lady sized him up and down before turning away. "Not interested," she sipped on her Old Fashioned, and sighed when the hick planted himself next to her. His eyes as dark as oblivion night that held a single promise. Her spine shivered involuntarily, there was a hint of madness within them, a huge hint to be exact.

He flagged down Janet, the bartender and landlady, and demanded a drink with his eyes still pinned on her, and hers on his. Raking in her appearance, he slowly hunched over the counter, trying to inch closer to her. But the stool had been planted on the ground. Freshly done. Of course it had been him who was tossing and swinging stools over drunken men who had pissed him off.

No matter, he caught a whiff of her perfume (or scent, whichever) and slowly drew to it and fell in a drunken state. It was like nothing he ever smelled before. Like the sea coast in the rivieras, there was a certain scent that felt nostalgic. Whereas Trevor smelled of gasoline and alcohol and cringing body odor.

She turned to him coolly and caught his hand fiddling on the peanuts, her peanuts. Soon after, she didn't care about his dirty hands so long as she had her alcohol, the bacteria would die. Plucking off from his hand, she popped the peanut in her mouth. A light lick from her forefinger to taste the salt, he growled (or hummed, it was a borderline of it) in anticipation, and she thought:

_To hell with it. I'll entertain myself with this slick._

"You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?" She was playing with him now. If he could swoon at this moment, he would, but those deep brown eyes paired with long lashes were spurring him on.

In the back of her mind, she knew it was a horrible idea to talk to this man, or to even entice him with empty promises.

Trevor pulled back with a shit-eating grin, satisfied with his catch. His drink was slammed on the counter courtesy from Janet's passive aggressive hand. "Thank you, dear. Been waiting for decades for a bottled beer!" He said all too sweetly, but hid underlying aggression. The woman beside him smirked, taking a sip to hide it. However, Trevor caught it and popped the lid open, taking a swig.

"So," he began, his eyes were brazenly looking over her decent chest. She wore a plunging dark grey tee that once appeared to look like a band t-shirt, but she had cut it leaving the collar. Dr. Hook was the band. Licking his lips, he knew in an instant she wasn't wearing a bra. He had seen one too many breasts in his time to know what size they were. He adjusted in his seat to fix the straining on his twin boys below him. "Been here before?" He started, his eyes barely looking into her brown orbs.

The woman shook her head with a snicker. "Are you talking to me, or are you talking to my breasts?"

"Both."

Rolling her eyes, she decided to chat him up and mess around. "A few times, usually to get away from the city for a bit. As for my breasts, same for them as well."

"Oh, understandable!" He said, expressive as he placed his dirty (or gasoline-stained) hand over his chest while the other rest on her chair, behind her. "All those teenagers with their 'hip' fashion and technology... whereas here, we are in a place stuck in time!"

"One of the main attractions of Blaine County." It was not a sarcastic remark, and she truly did adore the bumpkin side of this state. Another sip of her drink, and he had already drained his bottle. He demanded another. "I do like the fashion in the city though."

Trevor grinned from ear to ear. It did suit her quite well. He would guess that her taste in fashion was a mix and match with a smidge of old Hollywood to match with her melancholy yet grungy Elizabeth Taylor she was sporting. Something within him (other than the growing appendage between his legs) stirred. It must have been those winged downturned eyes and long full lashes that was batting at him, slow and calculating. Those brown eyes hid something as they were all-knowing, paired with her smirking rosé lips. Was that smile suggesting something? Mocking him? Or perhaps she found him interesting than the hicks who were eyeing her in the room as they speak?

He didn't care. As long as her attention was on him: it was perfect.

"You are not going to get some action tonight." She warned, however, her voice was light. It was as if she was the 'stop' sign, but instead of it being colored red, it was green. Women were going to be the death of all mankind. To all males.

Teasing ol' Trevor, eh? He thought, removing his eyes off her breasts. They were a delightful sight, but it was too soon, and her brown eyes were not so bad to sink his eyes in. Dark and beautiful in colour, even if it was the shade of dirt. "You sayin' I got a chance, babe?"

A chuckle escaped her pouty lips, downing all her whiskey. "I never said that." Her fingers reached in the glass to pick the maraschino cherry by the stem and bit onto it. She was definitely testing him and since their conversation had lasted this long.

He did not dare show that he was squirming in delight. All he could think about is that mouth on him and his tongue tasting her. There was an intent in him to want to find out what will make her squirm. But he knew a few hotspots. "Oh you'll be eating those words and moaning out my name in my truck." He inched closer to her, his breath on her skin.

The woman let out a laugh. "Oh sure, and I'm the Queen of England."

Trevor flagged down Janet and asked for another beer and the next drink his lady companion wanted. "And make it snappy."

The woman's alluring brown eyes was on him. "Jameson on the rocks, please. Aside from the pillow talk, do you come here often?" She had a growing smile adorning her face. Oh how he adored the tables turning. She was some sort of desert rose to him. Rare and thorny. Oh and definitely thorny. He could sense the growing heat.

"Well, sweetcheeks, I came here for the very reason you are here."

"Oh, to drink?" She suggested with a playful smile.

Trevor leaned further, and whispered to her ear. "And to have a little bit of fun."

...

Groaning, Catherine pressed her hands against her eyes and stayed in that position for who knows how long. A hangover, sure. But the smell in her room was putrid, and she did not want to wake up to find out. A hint of gasoline made her know where she was and who was in the bed beside her. "Fuck," she whispered, falling back onto the pillow as she rubbed her face with her hands. Way to go, Lo. After you tell yourself this was a bad idea from the start.

Another drunken night and another man's house. Fuck. The birds chirped from outside, she could safely assume she's still in the desert, but her own drunken tales could've taken herself to the other side of the county. It wouldn't shock her. But it was time for her to go. Curses flooded in her head as her legs ached and trembled in lastnight's pleasure. As much as a terrible idea it was, lastnight's performance was fulfilling, in a lack of better wording.

Good Lord, did he put? Her muscles on her lower regions trembled as her fingers reached to remove the obstructions in her vaginal canal. Wet, she noted, her eyes rolling. He came inside, and plenty of times. But aside of that, she took the Kegel balls from herself and shivered. Looking over her shoulder was a nude man, his arse in her eyes as snores filled the room and echoed everywhere. She wasn't on pills, but unlike many teenagers who use it religiously, she decided for an IUD. It was far more reliable and lasting than pills and condoms combined for an unwanted offspring. She mentally applaud herself for the switch.

Slowly removing herself from the bed, she cringed at the unsightly condition of his humble abode as she fished for her clothes. Until all was left was her underwear missing, only to find it within the man's (Uncle T, he refers to himself) fingertips that she thought, you know what? He can keep that.

Slipping on her blue jeans, the door shot opened with the sound of a man calling for Trevor. He yelped and immediately froze on his spot when he saw Catherine pause from putting on her jeans properly. She barely gave a damn on the show she was giving. But she did grasp a good look on him: his face was filled with blisters of sorts and rashes. "S-sorry, I-" The man stuttered but couldn't leave his eyes off her breast until her shirt finally covered them. "Is-"

"Asleep." She answered in a cool demeanor. Nudity was never a problem with her. "Where is Yellow Jack Inn from here?"

"Um, j-just stick on Zancudo Avenue until you hit Panorama Drive-"

"Thank you," she shot him a disarming smile before slinging her shoulder bag, and she head out.

Gawking, he stared at her and those swaying hips in the hot sun. Ron wondered how Trevor got that woman in his trailer.

A thud followed with a yawn. "What a wonder, that desert rose of mine, hm?" 

"Trevor!" Ron turned back only to turn away again. It would seem that the two had no decency. "Um, business is down again with the hillbillies."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my attempt on a "Trevor x Fem!OC x slight! Michael x hinted! Dave Norton x onesided! Steve Haines x multi" story. (I know, a mouthful). Updates will be slow and this will be awfully smutty. So if sex isn't your thing, this probably isn't for you. My Character is known as "Lo," (you'll find out her real name soon) but she will refer herself as many other names, such as "Catherine." I was planning to give her some interesting aspects about her by making up different personalities for different names. Think of it as a coping mechanism for her. Lana Del Rey, Marina and the Diamonds, Radiohead, Kasabian, and Nancy Sinatra, as well as other artists, inspired me to create her. 
> 
> I believe there is beauty in melancholy women. I believe there is beauty in sadness.
> 
> Love,  
> Sad_Girl


	2. Mr. De Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lo meets Michael in the present time. Fives years after meeting Trevor, she is found in Vanilla Unicorn all fucked up. Next chapter is smut-time with Mr. De Santa.

_"Babe, there's something wretched about this_   
_Something so precious about this_   
_Oh what a sin"_

_\- From Eden, Hozier_

_..._

“Welcome to Vanilla Unicorn – what can I get you?”

“Whiskey, no rocks.”

Looking over to his left, a woman with a white long furcoat was resting her head on the surface of the sticky tabletop. Her hand still holding onto the martini glass. A small chuckle passed through his lips. The bar was no place for a rest, but eyeing the whiskey glasses, tequila shots and beer bottles, she had a rough day.

Back with his order, the bartender glanced at the person he was staring at. “Oh, don't mind her. She's been acting real extra towards everyone that I have to serve drinks than to strip my ass off the stage for a few dollars.” The blonde giggled flirtatiously as the glass slid over to his hands.

“Get bent, Gina.” The woman mumbled, stirring in her arms before her head raised up.

Michael took in her appearance with a slight intake of breath. His heart stopped for a mere second. This woman must be the Devil's mistress for her voice was a dark smoke and her eyes were earthly. There was a slight danger in her eyes that made his loins twitch involuntarily. Deep full red lips that appeared like merlot red wine, and he bet it did taste of wine. His mouth was dry but it watered when she glanced at him with narrowed eyes.

The woman looked him up and down, sizing him up before saying, nonchalantly: “Today isn't Deluxe Tuesdays, it's Crackhead-Stripper Mondays. You're wasting that $20 cover fee for these ugly hoes.” She pointed using her thumb at the said ugly hoes on the poles. 

_"Hear her roar, it's time for the lovely Cheetah!"_

The DJ announced in the background, and there was the blonde with star tattoos flailing her arms and kicking imaginary dust bunnies off the floor until her hands reached the pole. Fives and tens were thrown as she bounced her tits and raped the pole furiously, skipping the beats of Britney's "Gimme more."

“Lo!” The bartender cried, furious and embarrassed, then turning to the well-dressed man. “Like I said, don't mind her! She's obviously drunk out of her mind and-” Gina looked back at Lola with a reprimanding look. “-She needs to head home now.”

“And like I said, get bent _Gina_.”

“Uh, Deluxe Tuesdays?” Michael questioned a bit confused.

Gina was all the more willingly to answer with a suggestive smile. “It's when all the high end strippers come in. I would like to say, I'm part of the group so you should come by and watch tomorrow.” She bit her bottom lip and balanced on her toes to plop her breasts on the table.

Obviously disgusted by this cheap hooker, Lola was the first to speak. “Put your fucking breasts inside your shirt, _Gina_.” She dragged her name like it was a curse.

Gina sneered at her.

“And how do you know all of that?”

“Lo is one of the finale shows."

“I figured.” He said, his eyes on her as he drank his whiskey. "Name's Michael De Santa.”

Gina interrupted, wedging herself in between them. “It's Sugar Muffins, baby.”

“And you, sweetheart?”

“Buy me a drink and I'll give you a name.”

“Alright, fine. What would you like?”

Her eyes went to his whiskey. “Straight whiskey.”

“Heh, a woman after my own heart. Heard her?”

“I heard.” Gina muttered, glaring at Lola.

"Your name?"

"Lola, but you may call me Lo."

"Lovely name. What's got you here, Lo?”

“Got nothing better to do.” She shrugged. “And yourself, Mr. De Santa?”

Oh that sent shivers down his spine.

She gave him a half smile and that made his heart flip dangerously. His brain was telling him otherwise, but the maniacal side was looming over the good within him. A vixen, that was what she was. A woman in her thirties; a fine wine.

“Got nothin' better to do.” He sipped on his whiskey with a crooked grin. Green orbs watched the barriers unfold in her eyes as her lips glimmered with liquor and he swore he had fallen in love. But that was the alcohol thinking; he had drank previously before coming here. A little buzzed, he ordered a few more drinks until he was half as drunk as his lovely drinking buddy.

Now they both stumbled to the stage, taking a seat in the VIP section, and they were huddling close, whispering and talking. A slight grasp and touch of their skins, nothing too serious. A red wine in her hand, she sipped as she listened to the man's troubling life.

It began with him buying a mansion in Vinewood, and he allegedly had an affair with a stripper in the midst of his anger towards his wife. That was when she began sleeping with men younger than her and retaliating against her husband.

"It's all my fucking fault!" He slurred, dropping his whiskey by the table and cradling his head in his hands. "If I hadn't slept with... Fuck!"

With her left leg crossed on the other, she leaned over to his side and patted his shoulder. "There, there. We all make mistakes; we're not saints. We fuck things up - but your wife? Continuing to fuck different men? It sounds like a deeper problem than a one-nightstand with a stripper, Mr. De Santa. If I were your wife, I'd settle for one man but plenty of others? I don't know what to tell you." 

She did, though. But she wouldn't like to insult him. Lo loves sex, and with different men and occasionally women or others. It was exciting, perhaps his wife was looking for excitement than to listen to his woes. Lo did not mind, deep conversations made her falter and drown in utter adoration.

"You're a better therapist than the one I have. Overpriced twat." He shook his head, sipping his whiskey down to the last drop. "It's good to know someone out here cares!"

Lola smiled. "I happen to be a great listener." Glancing at the clock hidden in the bar, she drained her wine and placed the glass on the table. It was almost 2am. "I should be going now, Mr. De Santa. It was a pleasure to meet you."

The man shot his head up, he had been hoping for her to make a move. To make him feel loved if only for 15 minutes. But it looked like she did not want to do anything he was thinking about, and it seemed she rather go home and sleep. Feeling a bit empty, he got up and stopped her.

"Do you think we could meet again? Not like this though, but when alcohol isn't apart of this?"

"I think alcohol will always be our little third wheeler. And it wouldn't be wise to be seeing me, a _stripper_." She smiled, but turned back to him. Lo wanted to see him again, even though he was a married man. But she didn't care. She was drunk and he was handsome. "Like, Gina said. I'll be here tomorrow. So if you like to live dangerously, we could talk a bit before my show at 10pm. Unfortunately, we might be under the influence by alcohol. I know I will be."

"I'll be here at 9, sweetheart."

"You're digging your own grave by doing this, Mr. De Santa."

"Darlin', I've been dead for a long time."

"See you tomorrow, Mr. De Santa." Lola smiled, her pearly whites gleamed. And with the sway of her hips, she was gone in a blink of an eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always dreamed of someone calling Michael "Mr. De Santa" It's so naughty. I like it.


End file.
